


One Bad Night

by Yda



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Also there's a lot of swears but we're talking about K here so, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't worry they're both alive, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9427028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yda/pseuds/Yda
Summary: It's one of those bad nights, when you're not okay but you try to keep yourself together anyway.





	

[10:13 pm]  
"Hola fuckhole"

[10:14 pm]  
"Be there in 10"

[10:25 pm]  
"Tik tok"

[10:28 pm]  
"A princess aint' late"

[10:31 pm]  
"Did ya loose yar tongue on Dick's dick bastard"

[10:38 pm]  
"Shithead"

 

          You wait but the lightscreen doesn't flinch. You curse and lay on your back, a gloom in the shadow that is your room. _Ronan Lynch is a bastard._ A bottle violently crash on the wall. _A fucking bastard._  

          Since he dreamt Dick's shitty car, he hasn't answered nor shown up even once. He asked for your help, you taught him the only thing you knew in your shitty life, the only thing that made you a bit worthy, and he left once he was done. Again. Once again you've been fucking used.  

          They all come to you just for that, asking and taking shit, using you and then forgetting you, because what matters is what you can do, not what you can be ; even less what you currently are. You've always known that but you never got used to it. And it hurts. It hurts to be fooled again. 

          You wanna destroy everything around you but you're hyperventilating and can't stand up, so you just end up destroying your arms with your claws. Ripping your skin to stay awake. Ripping to keep yourself together. Ripping to not become crazy. You ain't sure it works but you're not in a state to care. 

         Blood's burning your skin, the pain's a violent bitch but she screams _look you feel me you're still alive._ You feel dizzy and try to remember a time when you mattered but you don't. You were a punching-ball to your father, a dealer to your mother, a disturbed child for everyone else. You wanted to change and you did. 

         Now you're a mobster, or at least everyone believes it, because when you see a fucked up boy it's easier to believe he's just crazy and dangerous than to try to get through the first cover and offer help. Because they don't have time to fix a shit like you. If you can stop drowning alone they may look at you decently, but if you fail, you're dead. Society doesn't care about rotten trash. They'll throw you away eventually, like they do with objects, because you ain't nothing more than a thing. 

         Your dad taught you that early enough. _He owns you. You owe him._

 

 

 

         When you met Proko you learnt what was freedom. You didn't accept it at first, since you'd been taught your whole life that love was just another word for pain, and you only wanted to survive. But he didn't give up, and he gave you time.

         Your learnt help, friendship, acceptance and safe space. You learnt trust. You learnt that you had another reflexion when you looked at a mirror, the one he described to you, not the angry monster you thought you were. Or maybe you were but then Proko was too and it was easier to bear, because hell if Proko was a monster you didn't mind being one as well. It didn't seem as frightening as before. You learnt what it was to _breathe_.

         But while Proko was hell more than enough to you, you weren't enough to him, at least not enough for him to want to stay alive, and so he left you in this fucking shit of a world because he decided it was better to bleed to death in a trash bathroom than to let you try to fix him anyway. Because he thought he was your burden. He never understood that what mattered was that at least he was yours.

         And the torture you thought had left you behind came back to you, stronger, heavier, making everyday an agony because you felt like choking every godamn second you dared to inhale and exhale. So you tried to fix yourself, and fix him too, and you dreamt again and again, like your life was depending on it, because it was, so as his. You wanted _your_ Proko back, his entire self, because he wasn't broken to you as he was to everyone else, but you still decided to just change that tiny problem that had made him leave you the first time anyway.

         You were angry and ashamed, because you had changed him, because you didn't respect what he wanted, but you just couldn't live without him. He made your pain a little less heavy, even though you became angrier than you already were -and you didn't know it was possible-, but not angry at him, angry at you for what you did to him. Because you forced him to live in this shitty world again.

         And even if he didn't mind anymore, the monster inside you never stopped telling you _What would the first Proko say ? How would he feel ? You changed him. You forced him. Do you think you're a god ? Your dad thought it too. How does it feel ? How does it feel to be like him ? You're a monster. A monster, a monster, a monster, a monster._

 

 

 

         You feel and smell hot blood on your arms and you try to stop ripping it. The headache's hitting hard enough to keep your mind in the room and not in this hell of yours. You watch your phonescreen, just in case, but it remains blank as hell. You try to move and move on but you can't. It's like you're stuck in nothing. Nothing more than an empty space, that's what you are. You should be used to it now, it's like a routine to you, anger, outburst, panic, claws, blood and void. A godamn loophole that never really ends. 

         You're crying and falling right back in your nightmare when you feel contact. You jump at the touch and on your knife. Muscle memory. But Proko knows better and forces you to look at him to see everything's okay. Maybe he'd warned you he was there but you ain't in a state to hear anything and he knows it. He's sorry. Once he notices in your bloody eyes that you recognized him, he asks you softly if he can hug you, and you shrug. You hardly mumble that consent's overrated anyway, but he frowns and repeats his question until you answer yes or no and nothing else. So you nod. You're still not used to people hearing your voice.

         He surrounds you gently with arms and warmth and you rest your head on his collarbone. He draws slow circles on your back and in your hair to give you the right rythm to breathe. You're exhausted. You lean in the touch. Soft and caring. You crave it. You've always craved it so badly.

         He whispers it's nice to be alive, and it's nice that you are too. You know the meaning. He always freaks out when you go from everything to nothing. He hates your silences, he prefers when you're too loud. At least he's sure you're still breathing. You wonder if a dream can have memories from his past life, but you don't know if you want him to.

         The heat and silence are slowly growing in your head, still painful, less dizzy. Clearer. You notice Proko has rolled both of you in a blanket, and he's also thrown your phone away certainly a long time ago. Now that you're quieter, he takes the bandages he'd taken with him and starts to heal your wounds. You say nothing. You don't want to be more of a burden than you already are. You're also too grateful to speak. You're not used to be cared about and the throat's tight.

         Then he's done and he takes you in his arms again, telling you to sleep. Like a dream catcher protecting his dreamer, he doesn't plan to let you go, he'll ground you and stay tonight.

         He'll never leave you again anyway.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, for the fun fact, I wrote this one during one of those hella strong panic/anger attacks, so this is a bit messy but I had a real' hard time finishing and editing it so I'll let it like this, because hey first shot is often the best one -at least I added a soft ending. 
> 
> I always thought that under the first layers of Kavinsky there were anger and self-hatred, abandonment issues and loneliness due to past abuse, and that Prokopenko was always here to keep him from shattering, because Kavinsky's not that strong and Prokopenko isn't bland at all. So I'm throwing my headcanons in your face, I hope you liked it ! I love those boys.
> 
> If you find some mistakes do not hesitate to tell me, I'll edit it !
> 
> The title is from One Bad Night by Hayley Kiyoko because it was the one I was listening to soothe me and I l o v e i t.


End file.
